barricade
by sarsaparillia
Summary: There's only darkness at the finish. — Draco/Hermione.


**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to emily.  
><strong>notes<strong>: herpaderp.

**title**: barricade  
><strong>summary<strong>: There's only darkness at the finish. — Draco/Hermione.

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**iv**.

Trapped.

Trapped.

_Trapped_.

Hermione could barely breathe. Didn't _want_ to breathe—if she took breath, they would hear and then everything would be over. They would blow the crushed door open—jets of light—death—_death_—

She shrunk down even further, hair flattened by humidity and sweat. It stuck to her neck. There was no light. Hermione could taste bile.

_Just a little longer_…

And then:

A crash, a hiss, and explosion—there is a smoking hole in the wall. Hermione very nearly screamed and she would have screamed and screamed but instead she gagged and stayed perfectly still and silent.

"Granger, are you in here?" a voice hissed.

Hermione didn't move. She didn't even breathe.

And then hands on her arms, dragging her up and out. A flash of blond and grey, another hiss, and then a body was next to hers on the ground.

"Damn it, Granger, we thought you were _dead_!" snarled Draco Malfoy.

Hermione exhaled fear and relief. She whispered "So did I."

She didn't clutch at him because she was Hermione Granger and for moment, they just sat there together, caught up in surviving. Hermione took great, shuddering breaths in, finally allowing herself to make noise.

"I really, really thought I was going to die, Malfoy. Really," gasped Hermione.

"We're not of this yet, Granger," he grumbled in reply.

"I know," said Hermione with a smile.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because if I die, I'm not going to be alone."

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**i**.

The Barricade was put up literally over night.

It cut London in half, a solid line of never-ending dark obsidian, seamless and perfect. Even through the grey fog that had characterized that summer early on in the War, it shone with its own strange light.

No one could get near it. No one could remove it. It shot off violent spurts of magic when anyone tried—the Muggles were absolutely bewildered by it.

Hermione Jean Granger, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Harry James Potter stood in front of the Barricade. Polyjuiced and hidden in the shadow of a Muggle building, they watched as life went busily on around it—magic crackled over its surface, magic that the Muggles could feel and touch but not see.

Frankly, Hermione thought it was odd.

She put her hands on her hips, and looked between them. "Well, that's that."

"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head back and forth.

Harry remained silent.

Hermione thought he was contemplating how to go about dealing with this newest development in their lives—it could only make everything harder. Getting around unnoticed would be even harder. Getting ingredients and food would be _even_ _harder_.

She held her breath and ran her fingers through her hair. "Let's go," she said. "It's not safe here."

Harry and Ron followed her. She looped her arms through theirs, and they went. They would get through this.

They didn't have a choice.

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**v**.

She sat against the wall with her knees angled awkwardly, shattered confidence and tired bones, barely breathing. Smoke curled around her, hissing upwards from the lit cigarette hanging between her fingers. The window was open and the sill was wet, soaked from three days of non-stop rain. Hermione couldn't bring herself to close it on the principle that she might choke from everything that was going on around her.

The smoke hazed out the window in a steady stream.

_You should know better_, she scolded herself. _This is Malfoy you're thinking about. This is Malfoy you're __**worrying**__ about. Are you mad?_

But no, no, she wasn't mad.

It was just Malfoy.

He made things hard.

She blew white rings in the air and didn't sleep.

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**vii**.

London was a warzone.

It was just that no one knew it.

They hit the ground running and nearly crashed headfirst into the ground. Hermione clung to Malfoy's hand. Her wand was stashed in her shirt and she would have reached for it but she was terrified they were going to die.

"Get _down_," he snarled. He pulled her to the ground and the asphalt scraped the skin on her knees to bleeding. Hermione didn't even notice.

They huddled in the shadow of two tall buildings; alleyways were safer than the open streets (Hermione privately thought that this was hilariously ironic, having been told her entire life to stay away from dark places in the Muggle world—she lived in those places, now).

Hermione took deep, deep breaths into her lungs. Her breathing was always like that, now, because it was inhaling life and freedom and the only times she didn't were when the fear choked her up and breathing was less important than silence. "We can't—" gasp "—stay here—"

He nodded, breathing as deep as she; both caught trying not to hyperventilate. It was a losing task.

Nothing registered except screaming, and Hermione shook her head. He was still holding her hand. It was good. "H-hold on. I'll—"

The _crack_ of Apparition was loud as a gunshot, and they were gone.

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**ii**.

The parchment touched the ground next to her, feather-light.

_Meet me at the barricade. West end. Right side. Quarter to two._

—_D.M._

And Hermione went.

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**viii**.

That sat in front of the fire, the five of them. Ginny looked at Harry looked at Ron looked at Hermione looked at Malfoy looked at the ground. Children of war, they were; children of blood and lust and hatred.

The animosity would have lingered, but no one had time for animosity when the world was ending.

And the world was ending.

They didn't have time for _sorry_ or _I screwed up_ or _thanks_. They didn't have time for _I love you_ or _it hurts_ or _family_.

They had time for stitching up wounds and running low on potion supplies. They had time (barely) for sitting around a fire, shivering in Grimmauld Place's empty coldness. They almost had time for friendship.

Well, not friendship, exactly.

Companionship.

Really, they just had time to be alive, and whether that was good or bad was not the issue. It was just a thing.

Hermione watched Ginny flop backwards onto the threadbare carpet with her hair spread out like a dark red halo, flickering gold in the firelight. She could see the way Harry's eyes were drawn to Gin's light, and Hermione wondered why he was doing this to himself.

But then, that was asking like why any of them were doing it to themselves. War had a way of changing everything about a person. She could still taste blood and metal at the back of her throat and Hermione looked at Malfoy with shivers running up and down her spine.

Maybe they did it so that they could all be safe.

Or happy.

Hermione didn't know because it wasn't just about keeping Harry alive, anymore (once, it had all been about keeping Harry alive. But the problem was that they'd all lost things and people and loved ones and it _wasn't just Harry's war_). It was about sacrifice and staring eyes and coffins so small they might as well have been nothing.

And Hermione couldn't rationalize things like that, anymore.

She moved three inches closer to Malfoy. She moved her pinky just so that it was atop his.

He looked at her, and understood.

And then Pansy barged in with her arms full of supplies and a sparkle in her eyes, and everyone got up in a rush to greet her.

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**x**.

The world was black with red and maybe grey to fill in the holes.

Hermione lifted her hips and whimpered.

This was not love.

This was war.

And there was no taking things back.

Hermione hitched her legs around his hips and it was fire, flaming and so hot that she couldn't move for fear of burning herself on his skin. Didn't want to move.

Outside the window, Hermione could see little flickers of gold crackling through the air along the Barricade's surface. She mused that it wasn't the only thing breaking down.

Thinking took a backseat and Hermione gasped "—Malfo—oh god—_Draco_!"

Everything went white.

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**vi**.

"It's my birthday, did you know?"

Malfoy looked up at her, and raised a single pale eyebrow. He didn't say anything, just watched her and waited for her to expand on the statement.

Hermione had come to know that look.

"I'm twenty. Last night, I wished that—well, I can't tell you that. It won't come true if I tell you. So I suppose I shouldn't."

She shrugged at him helplessly, because she didn't know what he wanted her to say. It was the truth—she was twenty, and she'd wished that everyone would come home alive. She didn't want presents. Didn't want happiness. Didn't want anything, really.

Except for everyone to come back alive.

That was the best thing she could ask for.

But she wasn't going to say it aloud. She was sure Malfoy already knew exactly what she was thinking—he always knew exactly what she was thinking—but… it was a bit like a good secret.

She couldn't share it with anyone.

Malfoy stood up, and for a very long minute he was too many inches too close. He brushed some strands of hair away from her neck, nodded once, and stepped out of her space. He left the room.

He undid her with a look.

He undid her with a look and then he left.

Bastard.

Hermione collapsed to the floor.

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**ix**.

They sat side by side in Hermione's room.

They stared and said nothing. They might have been anyone, right then—just a girl and a boy, sitting side by side, simply content to know that the other was alive.

But they weren't anyone.

She was Hermione Granger and she was tired. He was Draco Malfoy and he was weak. Neither wanted to do anything, anymore. Neither wanted to fight. Neither had a choice. They would have wept with the absence of it.

But what were tears, in the end, except uselessness?

The sound of rain against tin was loud. The window was open and the sound of Muggle traffic rose up and in. There was shattering glass somewhere in the distance, and Hermione wondered if maybe someone was dancing to it. There was no light except for the orange streetlamp flickering outside.

She still couldn't bring herself to close that damn window.

Hermione and Malfoy sat together and shared her last cigarette in the gloom.

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**iii**.

The Barricade crackled magical energy. Hermione's nerves we getting the best of her—this was stupid—she was alone in the middle of the night—this was so _stupid_—what was she _thinking_ she should have brought Ron or Harry or—

"Granger, is that you?"

Hermione's head snapped up with wild eyes and wilder hair, wand clutched tight and a rending curse on her lips.

She would have shredded him in two, and thought nothing of it.

(He would not have been the first.)

They stared at each other, utterly silent. They might have been measuring.

"Why are you here?" asked Hermione.

"It's better than anywhere else," replied Malfoy. His hands were up with no want in sight, but Hermione was wary. Hermione was always wary, when it came to Malfoy. The shivers took her, and they stood in silence. The Barricade crackled.

The streetlamp flickered and went out.

All was dark.

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_fin_.  
><strong>notes2<strong>: um. so. if this has no sense of coherency, i apologize.  
><strong>notes3<strong>: if you favourite, please leave a review. i really, really appreciate them, and i do, in fact, answer every one. :)


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